


A Scenic View

by AnontheNullifier



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Infinity War spoilers, Slightly established relationship, Sort Of, amused wanda, but not really, nervous vision, time between civil war and infinity war, unapologetic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 03:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14487945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnontheNullifier/pseuds/AnontheNullifier
Summary: Wanda and Vision manage to steal just a bit more time together during one of their rendezvous.





	A Scenic View

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this wonderful drawing by Sonikenu (http://sonikenu.tumblr.com/post/173431039791). I know they aren't on a train, but for some reason it's the first thing I thought of when I saw this.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It is cold, the taste of snow permeating the air, a storm predicted later this evening, which is why, much to Vision’s dismay, they are at the train station several hours earlier than originally planned. If Wanda is as disquieted at the change in plans, she does not betray it, a contented curve to her mouth and her fingers embracing a steaming cup of hot chocolate as she stares out at the expanse of tree clad mountains rising up behind the large clock ticking down their time together. “Did you,” he’s developed a tendency to nervously chatter immediately before their goodbyes, an action he presumes is his inability to deal with the increasingly difficult task of being separated from Wanda, of sitting at the compound, usually alone, anxiously waiting for the next mission or the next approved leave, “know the Bergensbanen is rated as one of the most beautiful train rides in the world?” **  
**

Wanda sips her hot chocolate with deliberate slowness, a mischievous rise to her eyebrow that perfectly compliments the mock surprise on her face, “You’ve told me at least five times, Vizh.”

“Oh, yes, sorry.”

A hand wraps around his bicep, the pressure of her reassurance spreading a comfortable, pleasant warmth in his chest, one only rivaled by the physiological reaction that occurs when he makes her laugh. “I’m excited for it,” she pauses, eyes roaming back to the mountains before returning to his face, “though it would be more enjoyable with company.”

This sentiment and its subtext took time to develop after their first meeting post-Accords, yet with each consecutive rendezvous it grows stronger, more formidable, and he, though he does not think they are anywhere close to such commitment yet, can easily see himself surrendering to the idea, staying instead of leaving, if she’d have him. Vision eyes the clock, of all the foes they’ve faced, time has proven to be the one they cannot beat, its powers impressive, waning on endlessly in the days before he can leave to see Wanda and then developing a breakneck pace the second he lays eyes on her. Today, however, might offer a slight victory. “You know-”

“Hmm?” Wanda tilts her chin up with the syllable, the action accentuating the easy smile on her lips and he cannot stop his hand from reaching out to brush her cheek, stoking the right side of her mouth up just a bit higher..

“Barring any weather related obstructions, the train only takes six and a half hours to get to Oslo.”

“You’ve informed me of this too.”

Vision nods, torn between embarrassment at his clearly repetitious statement of facts and exhilaration at the suggestion he’s about to make, one he hopes only increases the intoxicatingly worry-free softness of her features, “Yes, were you also aware that I am not required back at the compound for another eight hours?”

A toothy, unrestrained smile breaks on her face and his own mouth responds in kind before he can even process what is happening, a jolt of electricity sending his neurons into a frenzy, a response only Wanda has ever elicited in him. The frantic firing of his synapses centralize in his chest when Wanda places her palm flush against his sternum and pushes him away from her, the distance momentarily disorienting him, his body gravitating back towards her until she shoves him again. “You need a ticket, Vizh.”

“Oh, yes, I shall,” he glances around until he spies the ticketing counter, “I shall be back momentarily.”

He allows Wanda to choose their seats, trusting her instincts and experience of traveling by train to find the ideal location for privacy (she is a fugitive, after all and he is always convinced people can see through his disguise) but also a seat that allows them prime views of the scenery. So they find themselves in the third to last train car, tucked into a corner, Wanda’s bags impolitely thrown on the seats across from them (a tactic she says is necessary to eschew getting random strangers wanting to sit with her), and they sit on the same side, Vision at the window, both to his delight as he wants to see as much of the landscape as possible but also to his chagrin because he insisted Wanda get the better seat. “Have you ever been on a train before?”

“Do you consider the mission in the subway as being on a train?”

Wanda laughs, head shaking in disagreement, “You mean the one where we closed down the L line for three weeks because you melted the tracks?”

“It was not solely my fault,” an almost lie, Rhodes had managed to shoot an explosive at the same time so there is no fully conclusive evidence it was Vision’s fault alone.

Wanda leans into him, hand curving along his jaw, an intimate touch that has increased in frequency, one that is sometimes comforting, sometimes enticing, and sometimes, as it is now, coquettish as she pats his face, “Sure, Vizh, and this,” her other hand points to the orangish hue of her hair, their previous evening spent in the bathroom reapplying dye to her roots,  “is my natural hair color.”

“I do believe the dye is all natural.” The ensuing eye roll is exaggerated, slow and fully formed to provide no ambiguity about her opinion of his retort. 

A groan rises up from beneath them, not unlike the crunch of metal each time they destroyed an Ultron bot, yet this one is less threatening, no killer robots in sight, just the feel of Wanda’s thigh resting along his, her shoulder digging into his arm as she leans over his chest to look out the window. Then the train moves, slowly at first, crawling out of the station, gaining speed with each second and giving way to a panorama of mountains lined with houses, each seemingly floating in the air. Vision is awestruck already, “It is beautiful.”

“I’ve been told by a reliable source that it gets even better.” She winks at him, settling into the seat, her head coming to lay on his shoulder and her hand seeking out his, their fingers intertwining. And this is how they sit, for the majority of the ride, regardless of what they are doing - whether it is speaking of their next rendezvous (Lappeenranta, four a.m. once the other members of Steve’s ensemble part ways. Vision has already booked a hotel room that is far nicer than what was arranged for Wanda), playing Sokovian scrabble (without the use of the internet for Vision, which means Wanda can sometimes come close to winning), or simply staring out the window at the towering mountains and pristine, sparkling lakes. They do not move, maintaining contact at every juncture of their bodies that is physically possible. The only change in positioning happens about four hours in, Wanda’s responses to his hypothetical quandaries about spacetime becoming slower, quieter, and less enthusiastic as she dips into sleep. Vision wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her snuggly to his chest, his fingers tracing the raised seed stitching of her sweater. 

Outside are snow-capped mountains and vibrantly blue skies dotted with increasingly fattening clouds, and it is breathtaking, even more so than the travel guide he memorized before arriving described, yet it pales in comparison to the pressure of Wanda’s body against his, the tickle of her hair on his neck, and the aroma of hot chocolate and lavender filling his nose.  It is these moments that affect him the most, the utter normalcy of sitting on a train, no thoughts of fighting or the Accords, no consideration of how to avoid being found out or how many more lies he can concoct to keep Tony from discovering where he is going, simply the stillness of contentment, the feel of her body against his, and the even breathes of her slumber. He knows once they reach Oslo he’ll have to leave, as he always does, but he’ll recall this moment (and all the moments from the past week, like their bodies curled together, her legs thrown over his knees and his fingers in her hair as they watched tv), and use it to drive him on until the next time, because he’s finally figured out what he wants in his life, and it’s not stunning heroics or dealing in the politics of aid. He’s aware that he is not what his creators intended, nor does he want what they wished him to desire, perhaps he is a disappointment, but it doesn’t matter. Wanda, thankfully, does not view him that way. He might remain a hero, he might not, but he is steadfast in the knowledge that so long as he can be near Wanda, breathe in her presence, enjoy her company, feel her against his body and in his mind, wherever in the world that may be, he will be in bliss. 

Vision runs a hand through her hair, bending slightly to lay a kiss to her head. He returns his eyes to the scenic views outside and smiles, knowing they are more beautiful in this moment because Wanda is at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Back to writing angst now, then I'll do a series of little one shots like this. But I want to finish Achromatic first. 
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
